we've survived more (but I want to live)
by agentcalliope
Summary: Oceans and galaxies, strands of code that were never real. They've survived more. (If only surviving was the same thing as living)


She's alone when they send for her.

There's the call of her name, and the hand on her shoulder that belongs to someone she doesn't recognize. There's her focus, shifting from the parts moving on the assembly line towards the woman's hand, then towards the woman herself.

There's the woman's lips moving, the mention of an accident, the statement that Jemma's needed immediately, the confession that there's much that even she doesn't know.

There's confusion.

There's dread.

"Who?"

"It's Agent Fitz, ma'am."

There's white. She can only see white, just for a moment. Everything else fades. Her breath quickens, her heart pounds. They've survived oceans and galaxies, strands of code that were never real but _were_. They've survived more.

 _We've survived more_ , she tells herself, following the woman out the door and down the hallway.

 _We've survived more_ , _We've survived more_ , _We've—_

survived.

(If only surviving was the same thing as living)

He can't bear to open his eyes.

There's a tightness on his forehead that tells him that there's a cut, and he faintly realizes that he can't move his arm. But he supposes that he doesn't feel more because of whatever painkiller they've given him. Not that he minds it, of course. He's actually enjoying this, being numb. It feels as if he looks down at his hands, he won't see all the harm and pain they've caused.

He's been feeling a lot of that, lately.

Besides, he doesn't dare to look now.

He knows that she's there, and he knew it from the moment he woke up and immediately keep his eyes closed. But he doesn't know how long she's been there, sitting next to him, waiting for him to meet her gaze, to smile, and tell her that he's okay.

He wants to cry.

For all that he feels numb, he never thought how much her words would burn.

"I'm here, Fitz. I'm here."

And then she touches him, gently placing her hand in his.

If her words burned, it doesn't begin to describe her touch.

He can't bring himself to look at her, to open her eyes, but his body betrays him and he leans into her burning fingers.

And as much as he can't bear to open his eyes, he can't bear for her to bear it alone. He turns his head to the side and looks at her, meeting her eyes full of mist, holding her hand.

Holding close, holding tight.

She lets out an ocean, and he lets out his.

He wonders if maybe, this time, they'll both drown.

Maybe, this time, his love won't be enough to save them both.

(Maybe, this time, he doesn't know if it could.)

"I understand now," Fitz whispers after a while, after, with Jemma's help,he shifted over so they could lie together. "I understand why you left."

"I know." She whispers back, breathing gently onto his neck.

He fidgets, looking over at her and then exhaling, glancing up towards the ceiling.

"Did they tell you what happened?"

"Only that you were hurt, but you were going to live."

He blinks. "I found out what they wanted me for."

She lets him continue.

"What they were working on… it could've killed millions. I could've helped them hurt more people, and I can't bear that, Jemma. I can't." He squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a shaky breath. "I already can't look at myself in the mirror. So I destroyed it."

She wants to kiss him, this boy, this man who has so much to bear. Who believes everything he's carrying is his to bear alone.

She wants to grab his hand and run away, take him somewhere they'll be safe, where they can stay.

She wants to tell him that she's finally forgiven him for everything, and hope that he can finally forgive himself.

She settles for holding him closer.

"Do they know?"

He opens his eyes and turns to face her. "I don't know. I don't think so."

"We'll deal with it. Like we always do."

But this is Fitz, and Jemma knows all his tells—the quivering lip, the furrowing brow, the eyes that are much too tired.

He's uncertain.

"We've survived more." She finally says, aloud.

"But I want to live." He replies.

He wants to lie in that little hospital bed with her forever. He would, if he could. But sometime later a woman opens the door, and tells Jemma that she must go back to work. It's not a question, but a demand.

Jemma blinks, nods, gives him a kiss and a promise on his lips, and leaves him, there, alone. She walks towards the door, and before she follows the woman out, she looks back at Fitz.

And then she goes.

He closes his eyes, and remembers to breathe. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. It's a mantra that replays in his head, over and over again. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.

You're going to be okay, she's going to be okay, _it's going to be okay._

"It's going to be okay."

He opens his eyes and Daisy's there, sitting by his side. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.

"Hi, Daisy."

"Hi, Idiot."

He can't help but snort, and she grins lightly, leaning back into her seat.

"I thought I could come in and sit with you for a while."

He glances at the banquet of flowers that have been placed on his bedside. "We're in space, where the hell did you get _flowers_?"

"I have my ways." She folds her hands across her lap and shifts in her seat, looking upwards before turning her focus towards him. "Besides, they're fake."

He grins, but her's disappears.

"They say it was an accident."

Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. _It's going to be okay._ "What do you think?"

"I know." Daisy says. "And I know that, for all our differences, we are too much alike."

He blinks slowly, and nods. "Yeah. We really are."

She rubs her eyes with a shaking hand, and leans forward. "You don't choose who cares about you."

(You don't choose who you care about, either.)

When Jemma's finally done, walking quickly towards his room, the door opens, and May steps out.

"May?"

"Jemma."

With a nod, leaving the door open a crack behind her, May walks away.

She enters, and sees the flowers, the chocolate, the balloons, the little stuffed teddy bear with a note on its stomach reading _¡que te mejores pronto!_

"I see you've had visitors."

Fitz smiles, gazing at all the presents left by the people who care about him, and that he cares about. "Yeah."

She sits on the side of the bed, reaches over, runs her fingers through his hair, lets her hand rest on his cheek, and looks into his eyes.

"We're going to survive."

Fitz lifts his hand and covers hers.

"We're going to live."

(And they did.)


End file.
